


A Small But Precious Thing

by the_7th_swan



Series: A Silver and Scarlet Claim [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, BDSM elements, Bonding, Bottom Tony, M/M, Marking, Supernatural Elements, Top Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_7th_swan/pseuds/the_7th_swan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world consisting entirely of Vampires, Tony is sick of being alone and has decided to search for a mate. The attention this attracts, combined with a case that strikes a little too close to home, only complicate matters further. And what the hell is wrong with Gibbs?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small But Precious Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is based in a world consisting entirely of Vampires. Also, the poem is mine. Please don't take or use without permission.

 

  
_Chaos has free reign here_   
_My whole world torn asunder_   
_And scattered on the barren planes_   
_Are the remains of joy and wonder._   
_I've nothing to commend me_   
_No victory, no peace_   
_I've nothing left to guide me_   
_No mother, cousin, niece._   
_And while beauty seems befouled_   
_And love seems to have decayed_   
_I have something more dear still_   
_That my very heart has made._   
_I call the small shade hope_   
_I see it dance and hear it sing_   
_And though it is a fragile thread_   
_It is a small but precious thing._

 

**A Small But Precious Thing**

Somewhere, someone was playing _'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'_ , the gentle instrumental notes drifting into the bullpen. Usually, Tony would have found the music a nice change of pace from the boredom that was report writing. Most days, he would have found the music peaceful –even uplifting.

Today wasn't one of those days.

Instead the music filled Tony with a sense of melancholy, just serving to remind him that Christmas was only two weeks away and so far Tony's plans entailed curling up at home and watching a marathon of holiday-themed movies.

Five years ago, it wouldn't have mattered. He'd been content with his active lifestyle and his stream of constant lovers –men and women alike. Five years ago he'd look at another Vampire, casually showing off his or her new claiming mark, and shudder at the very idea.

Somehow, somewhere, things had changed.

Tony wasn't exactly sure how it had happened but slowly his apartment had become a thing of isolation and loneliness rather than comfort and solitude. He'd tired of the numerous affairs with the numerous people who were as unimportant as they were unremarkable. Began to long for something more –more meaningful, more permanent, more stable. He didn't cringe every time he saw a claiming mark nowadays. Instead, the sight filled him with a longing he'd spent the last three years routinely ignoring.

It had scared him, the idea of belonging to someone so completely. A very large part of him worried he wasn't good enough, that what he had to offer could never be sufficient. Hell, it still scared him now. The only difference being that his yearning now far outstripped his fear.

He was sick of pretending and sick of being alone. He'd gone for his plain choker necklace this morning and had found himself pausing, his hands hesitating to perform a motion that had become habit these last twenty-five years.

He knew what forgoing it meant. Heck, anyone the age of sixteen knew firsthand what that meant. A bare neck served as an invitation –a way to signal that a submissive vampire was looking for a mate.

Some people went their whole lives without ever wearing a cover around their neck. Kate had been one such vampire –looking for the real thing and determined as hell to find it. But just as there were people who were never seen with a neck cover, there were those never seen without one –Tony being one such example. He'd never looked for anything serious and never _wanted_ anything serious. Well, until now that was.

And he knew his sudden change of heart wouldn't go unnoticed or unchallenged for long.

"Hey Tony," McGee began and Tony internally cringed, already dreading what was to come, "Why isn't your neck covered today?"

As expected, the question caught Ziva's attention at once. Tony struggled to not fidget under her gaze.

"I was unaware you were seeing anyone Tony," she drawled, eyes sharp, "It must be serious –I have never known you to be without a neck covering of some kind."

"I'm not seeing anyone Ziva," Tony shot back, propping his feet up on the table and trying to exude a calm he did not feel, "I'm accepting offers."

Both his teammates looked visibly startled. For those who habitually wore them, taking a neck covering off while dating was much more common than simply removing it without warning. People often entered a relationship convinced they wanted nothing serious only to change their mind later, after all, and for the majority of vampires with a commitment phobia, that was how it worked –they found someone who changed their mind.

" _You're_ looking for a mate?" Ziva demanded, equal parts sceptical and amused, "Really?"

"I'll have you know that I'm an excellent catch," Tony parried, managing not to sound defensive by the skin of his pointed teeth, "I'm surprised there isn't already a rabble of young vampires eager to plead their case lining up at my desk."

Tim snorted and shook his head, smiling.

"Good luck to the dom that claims you," he laughed good-naturedly, "The poor SOB is braver than I am."

Since Tim would probably fold like a tower of cards under Tony's will, Tony couldn't help but agree. Tim wouldn't be able to manage him at all –as far as Tony was concerned, it was a miracle he was a dom at all. When they'd first met, Tony had actually questioned his submissive instincts for declaring him as one.

"This is very sudden," Ziva observed, apparently incapable of letting the issue go, "Can I ask what caused the change of heart?"

"You can ask," Tony allowed, shooting a smile her way that told her exactly when she'd be hearing an answer.

"Abby will be happy," Tim put in, grinning a touch evilly.

Tony winced, knowing that was true. She'd squeal, throw herself at him and proceed to give him a run through of all the available doms she knew.

He was starting to remember why he hadn't done this earlier.

"Hey Tony."

Eager for the distraction, Tony turned at once, smile already in place. Nathan was leaning against his desk casually, eyeing the three special agents with amusement.

"Hey Nathan," Tony greeted, "How's Lewis treating you?"

"Better than Gibbs is treating you," Nathan shot back, grinning.

"Not hard," Tony agreed, "What can I do you for?"

Nathan shook his head and pressed a hand to his heart.

"What, I can't come by to talk to a friend?" he mock gasped.

"Nope," Tony teased, resisting the urge to twirl in his chair.

"Fine, fine, you caught me," Nathan sighed, raising his hands in surrender, "I couldn't help notice your neck. That bare for anyone special?"

Tony started slightly at the question. He'd flirted back and forth with Nathan for years now but Nathan had never shown any real interest. Since Tony flirted with everyone, there were quite a few people he chatted up just for fun and, until then, he'd simply pegged Nathan for one of them.

"No," Tony replied slowly, eyeing Nathan more carefully now, "Not particularly."

"Well," Nathan began, eyeing Tony keenly, "In that case you can expect my call."

Giving Tony one more appreciative skim, Nathan pushed off the table and sauntered off without giving Tony a chance to reply. A little bemused, Tony stared after him blankly.

"Wow," Tim remarked, summing up what Tony was thinking pretty accurately, "On the market barely an hour and already you've got Nathan Reynolds chasing after you."

"He never seemed interested before," Tony mused aloud, still thoroughly caught off guard.

"Maybe he wasn't interested in a fling," Tim pointed out practically, "Not a good idea to do mess around with people you work with."

"There is that," Tony consented, frowning.

"You could do much worse," Ziva added her two cents, "Nathan is very good looking. Way out of your game."

"League," Tony corrected absently before he registered what she said, "And hey!"

"You should probably give him a shot," Tim suggested, grinnng.

"I'm not sure," Tony replied, "If it didn't work out between us it could end up being very awkward. Like you said, probie, not a good idea with people you work with."

"But you already know him," Tim pointed out, "And the background check is bound to be clean if he works here."

"Background check," Tony echoed, laughing.

"Considering the sort of trouble you get into, it might not be a bad idea," Ziva put in helpfully, though her grin ruined the effect.

"There's a difference between screwing around and looking for someone to claim you," Tim agreed seriously, "I mean, that's a big deal Tony. A claiming is forever, after all. You'll need to be careful with who you chose."

"I'm not rushing into this," Tony protested, "I plan to take it slowly, alright? I mean, I'm not some idiot sub who'll let a dom claim him the first time they have sex. I do plan to date them first, not to mention move in together."

"That's good to hear," Tim agreed, "So, Nathan?"

"I'll give him a go," Tony allowed, rolling his eyes, "If he even calls me at all."

"He'll call," Ziva promised wryly.

"We get something?" Gibbs demanded; strolling down the steps from MTAC, where he'd been trapped since before his three agents had even arrived.

All three of them jumped. Gibbs fresh from a meeting with the director was never pleasant. His mood varied between annoyed to all out vindictive –depending on how quickly he'd run out of coffee.

"No boss," Tim said, all but tripping over himself to answer, "Nothing."

"Then who the hell called?" Gibbs demanded, glaring at Tim as though the lack of a case was his fault.

"No one called," Tim protested and, when Gibbs' expression darkened further, quickly explained, "We were just talking about Nathan Reynolds."

"He's shown an interest in Tony," Ziva put in, smirking at Tony smugly.

Gibbs huffed and turned to Tony, a quip remark on his lips. It died the moment he set eyes on his senior agent.

"Where's your collar?"

"It's not a collar," Tony protested before he saw the full extent of Gibbs' glare. "I mean, I'm not wearing it today boss."

"Yeah, I can see that DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped, "Why the hell not?"

"Er... I'm not going to wear it anymore boss," Tony answered, shrugging uncomfortably, "I've to decided to look for a mate."

Gibbs stared at Tony uncomprehendingly. Tony chanced a glance to Tim and Ziva but since they looked as puzzled as he did, he quickly disregarded the notion that he'd accidently spoken Spanish.

The phone rang and Tim leapt at it, fumbling slightly in his eagerness to answer and break the tension. Tony rolled his eyes.

"McGee," he cried, looking anywhere but at his teammates. "Uh-huh. Right. Got it, thanks."

Secretly grateful for the interruption, Tony began gathering up his gear as Tim looked up.

"We got a case," he announced, rather unnecessarily, already scooping up his own bag.

Gibbs scowled and headed to the elevator without another word, the three of them trailing him silently. To make matters worse, they were ogled all through security, the lack of a cover on Tony's neck making him a prized subject of speculation. Gibbs mood darkened further under the siege of mindless staring and Tony couldn't help but duck his head and rub his naked neck self-consciously.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

As he wallowed in doubt, however, Tony couldn't help but remember what had driven him to discard the covering in the first place. The sense of loneliness was stronger than ever now but it was nothing compared to the fierce desire to belong and to have someone that he could rely on utterly.

If he could have that, the stares and the judgement would be worth it.

This time, as he reached up to touch his neck, it was because he was trying to imagine how he'd feel when it was Marked. Granted, that was probably a good deal into the future but the thought sent a faint shiver down his spine, one borne just as much from fear as from longing.

Gibbs pulled the van to halt abruptly –so much so that Tim and Ziva jolted. Tony, too accustomed to Gibbs driving, didn't even notice they'd come to a stop until Tim opened the door and hastened to get out. It was only then that he took in his surroundings and alighted from the car.

The house before them would have looked ordinary if not for the flashing lights and the presence of an ambulance. Not to mention the noise.

They passed it all in silence, Tony taking only a moment to glance at the woman sobbing in the back of the ambulance, the claiming mark on her neck an ordinary scar that would fade within the week now that her husband was dead. The child that she had clasped to her side, a little boy of perhaps seven, looked at Tony as he passed by, his eyes blank of any emotion at all.

The door to the house was open and, one by one, they stepped through it. The body of the marine lay directly in front of them, sprawled facing the door. He'd been shot twice, Tony saw, both shots hitting him in the chest.

Tony took out his sketchpad at once, setting straight to work. Gibbs eyed them all thoroughly before nodding abruptly and leaving the house. He'd go talk to the wife, Tony knew. Tony resisted the temptation to follow him –Gibbs was fantastic with kids but recently widowed women was another story altogether. Perhaps his personal history affected him, because he always ended up appearing too intense.

He was halfway through when Ducky finally ambled inside, Gibbs following right on his heels. Ducky nodded at them all pleasantly but his eyes froze on Tony's face.

"Anthony!" he exclaimed in surprise, "Your neck! Could it be that you've discarded your covering at last?"

"All your advice has finally paid off," Tony quipped wryly.

"It's about time," Ducky grumbled, passing them and kneeling by the body, "What made you change your mind?"

For anyone else, Tony would have reverted to a joke or movie reference as he had done with Ziva. For Ducky, he found himself telling the truth.

"I got sick of pretending," he replied, feeling his cheeks heat as his teammates stared but determined to not be ashamed of what he'd decided, ""I just... want a place to belong. I won't find it by keeping myself walled away from the world."

"Tony..." Tim began, looking lost for words.

"Don't," Tony protested at once, holding up a hand, "I'm allergic to sentimentality."

"Ducky?" Gibbs demanded, changing the subject with efficiency.

"Cause of death is a gunshot wound to the heart," Ducky obliged, "Which I'm sure you've deduced for yourselves. What I can also tell you, and what might interest you Jethro, is that the body has been moved."

"Moved?" Tony echoed, that snagging his attention, "What did the wife say boss?"

"That she was woken by gunshots and ran to discover her husband dead and the front door open." Gibbs replied, eyes sharpening.

"The murderer wouldn't have had time to move him, were that the case," Tony noted, frowning, "Did the boy say anything?"

"Nothing," Gibbs returned, shaking his head.

Tony frowned. It was rare that children didn't talk to Gibbs –the guy all but had a neon sign above his head attracting the little devils. Tony had something similar, only it inspired the opposite effect.

"We should check the other rooms for blood and gunpowder," Ziva suggested pragmatically as Ducky began to load the body onto the gurney.

Tony sighed. No murderer could kill a man, clean up after themselves and drag the body into the hallway without waking the inhabitants of the house. Unless the murderer was an inhabitant of the house. Unless the wife had killed her own husband.

"Get to it," Gibbs ordered, "DiNozzo, you're with me."

Tony, who had been turning towards the bedrooms, turned back so abruptly the move appeared like a pirouette. They made their way outside where the newly made widow was still sitting in an ambulance and holding a cup of steaming tea, though she didn't appear to be actually drinking it.

"Mrs Witt and Nathan are both fine," the ambo assured them when they approached, "Just in shock."

"Can we take them back to HQ?" Gibbs asked curtly.

"Of course," the woman allowed and, taking that as his cue, Tony gently ushered Mrs Witt and her son to their car.

No one spoke the whole drive back, though Tony did get a call from Tim confirming that the blood had been cleaned up with bleach before the 911 call had been made. The blue lights still found it easily and declared, without doubt, that the murder had taken place in the bedroom of the young boy.

Tony leant over to whisper that information to Gibbs, years of experience insisting he not allow the suspects to overhear –Gibbs could use that information to trip them up, especially because he'd already received what could only have been a false account of what had happened.

Gibbs' eyes flicked to him in acknowledgement and his lips firmed. Before, the possibility that a family member had murdered the marine was just that –a possibility. Now it was certain that the murderer was sitting in their backseat. And it wasn't necessarily the wife.

They pulled into the Headquarters and herded Mrs Wills and Nathan through security. Mrs Witt remained silent as Gibbs led her to an interrogation room to wait questioning while Tony went about finding an available social worker to take care of Nathan's rights. His mother, now suspected of murder, could hardly do that.

The child said nothing as Tony worked and waited, but neither did he look away. His eyes, as empty as the Sahara desert, filled Tony with a certainty so heavy it was burdensome.

When the social worker finally came Nathan went with him without a sound, allowing the man to lead him where he would.

Tony watched them go before the ding of the elevator distracted him and he turned to see Tim and Ziva enter the bullpen. Tim looked more drawn than Ziva did –he was a probie still in many ways and his insistence that Christmas was a time for family was just one of them. A case like this, this close to the much-loved holiday, would weigh on him more heavily than it might have done otherwise.

"We found the gun buried clumsily in the backyard," Tim informed him as he took his seat, "We gave it to Abby."

Gibbs made himself known then, striding back into the room and looking fierce enough to burn anyone who irritated him by glaring alone. Tony, who knew he had just been to see Ducky, felt his hopes droop further.

"The TOD was a full hour before Mrs Witt made the 911 call," he informed them, scowling, "And the entry wound suggests he was shot from a low vantage point."

Tony swore. Ziva looked sad. Tim just looked puzzled.

"The child is the murderer," Tony explained, shaking his head, "Jesus Christ. I hate cases like this."

"He shot his own father?" Tim breathed, eyes wide and filled with horror.

"Which makes him one of two things," Ziva said softly, "Psychotic or abused."

"Maybe it was an accident?" Tim supposed hesitantly.

"He was shot twice," Tony reminded him, "and they took an hour to clean up afterwards. This was many things, but it wasn't an accident. Did I mention I hate these cases?"

"DiNozzo, I want you to talk to Mrs Witt," Gibbs ordered, "Get the truth out of her. What's the kid's name?"

"Nathan," Tony replied softly.

Gibbs nodded, turning and striding away, clearly intent on figuring out whether the child had acted in self-defence or if the problem went deeper.

"Tim, go play with Abby," Tony directed as he stood, "Let me know when you get those prints. Ziva, enjoy the paperwork."

Ziva scowled mulishly at that but knew better than to argue. Tony couldn't restrain himself from giving her a coy wink as he made his way past her desk and towards the interrogation rooms.

Mrs Witt looked very small sitting at the table, as though she had the whole world balancing on her shoulders. Tony felt a brief moment of intense pity for her before he shook it away. Here, now, it would do him no good.

Tony took his seat without speaking, propping his feet up on the table and ignoring the woman utterly as he gazed at the file in his hands with a slight frown.

Mrs Witt lasted three minutes before she spoke.

"Is something wrong?"

"Hmmm?" Tony hummed, as though distracted, "What? Oh, yes. Well. It's just that... well, this doesn't make much sense."

"Really?"

There was a universe full of hope in that world. Tony was sorry to have to crush it.

"You said that you found your husband in the corridor?" he asked, raising his eyes at last.

"Yes," Mrs Witt agreed, tentatively.

"And yet," Tony mused, "I've evidence that shows he was moved after he was murdered. Evidence, in fact, which identifies the murder scene as your son's room."

Mrs Witt froze, eyes large and full of panic, her whole body tense. This wasn't the time to be harsh and demanding, Tony knew. This was the time to coax the story out.

"Mrs Witt," he said, lowing his legs and leaning across the table, "I know there was no burglary. I know there was no break-in. I know that you waited an hour before making the 911 call. So why don't you tell me what really happened?"

Mrs Witt looked away for a long moment. When she finally turned her eyes back to his, they were filled with sorrow but also with resolve. Tony inwardly sighed, already knowing what was coming.

"I killed him," she lied, not wavering in the least, "I was angry and I shot him."

"What were you doing in your son's room?" Tony asked mildly, neither disputing nor confirming that claim, "Why murder him in front of your son?"

"He came in yelling," Mrs Witt and Tony felt the pity stir once more. She was a terrible liar. "I didn't think, I just shot."

"And the gun?" Tony prompted gently, "You just happened to have it with you? Or do you keep a loaded weapon in a seven year old boy's room?"

A surge of anger flashed through Mrs Witt's eyes –an anger borne of fear just as much as it was from Tony's gentle taunt.

"I had it with me," she declared, lifting her chin and daring Tony to disagree.

"And how did you shoot him?"

Mrs Witt blinked, then frowned in puzzlement.

"What?"

"How did you shoot him?" Tony repeated patiently, "Were you standing, pressed close against him? Did you shoot him as he walked through the door? Or perhaps from your son's bed?"

"I –" Mrs Witt fumbled slightly, "I was on my feet. He came towards me and I shot him. Twice."

"And yet," Tony mused, voice soft but resolute, "The trajectory of the bullet was from a much lower height. And the prints on the gun were those of a child."

They hadn't gotten the prints yet, of course, but Tony knew they would be. And there was nothing wrong with bluffing.

Especially when it worked. Mrs Witt was frozen in place, staring at Tony as though she dreaded he would ask the question. She was right to fear. Tony asked.

"Tell me Mrs Witt," his voice was soft, his hands, gentle, reached and caught her own, "Why did your son kill her husband?"

And that was it. That was all she could take. She broke down utterly, sobbing into her hands as she did so and muttering furiously under her breath that she didn't know why –she only knew that she had to protect her son.

Tony got snippets of the story: her starting awake by the sound of gunshots, running to Nathan's room to find her husband dead and her child holding a gun, cleaning the room with bleach, burying the gun, moving the body and breaking the lock of the front door before finally calling the police.

Tony listened, keeping his hands locked around hers and speaking in gentle murmurs as she cried. When she finally calmed he took her into the bull pen and handed her over to Ziva who sat her down and immediately starting piling her with warm drinks and gentle conversation.

Leaving them to it, Tony made his way to the second interrogation room, this time slipping in behind the mirror to observe.

Gibbs was speaking softly to Nathan, his eyes gentle and his voice calm. Usually, this sort of tactic would have worked beautifully –but it wasn't now. Nathan wasn't even looking at Gibbs: his eyes were focused directly ahead and were completely devoid of any emotion. He didn't speak a single word and, from the frustration curling Gibbs' brow, Tony gathered that was nothing new.

Tony knew what the problem was of course. Gibbs was used to relating to children who'd had a relatively normal childhood before they wound up at NCIS but abused children did not have that normal childhood. Gibbs couldn't use the same tactics and expect them to work but at the same time he couldn't imagine there was any other way to act.

Tony felt a surge of fondness run through him and, making up his mind, left the observation room and joined his boss. Gibbs looked up as he entered, but Tony didn't speak. He merely laid a hand on Gibbs' shoulder and tilted his head in question. Gibbs eyed him a long moment before nodding and vacating his seat, retreating to the corner of the room and allowing Tony to take his place.

Tony sat in such a way that Nathan's gaze was forced to meet his. Then he merely held it, holding as still and as silent as the boy himself was. Nathan held his gaze for a long moment before his discomfort got the better of him and his eyes flickered briefly away. Tony took that as his cue.

"My name is Tony," Tony began, keeping his voice smooth and without expression, "And I know exactly what happened."

Nathan's eyes flickered with doubt and anger, the first hint of emotion Tony had seen him display.

"You doubt me," Tony observed, "You think no one could possibly know. Could possibly understand. But I do. Shall I tell you the story?"

Nathan said nothing, his eyes still filled with the conviction that no one could understand, that no one had suffered as he had suffered. But Tony could know –he did know –and he read Nathan like a book.

"It started young. Very young. But you still remember the first time." Tony kept his voice detached but certain. Nathan twitched, watching Tony with large eyes, "It kept you up all night and you didn't know what to think at first. You didn't know what it meant. You thought maybe it was your fault, maybe you had done something. You came close to telling your mother –" a twitch and, no, that was wrong, "No, you didn't even consider it, did you? You might have entertained the notion but you never came close. She couldn't understand.

"How long did it last, Nathan? How long was it before you realized it would never end? Before the dread of waiting for the footsteps down the hall and the turning of the doorknob turned into a determination for it to stop? How long before you caught the glimpse of your father's gun and remembered that one of the ways to kill a vampire was to pierce their heart? How long before –"

"Stop it," Nathan whimpered, raising his hands as though to fend Tony off, "Please."

"What did he do Nathan?" Tony asked gently, "I need to hear you say it."

"Why do you care?" Nathan demanded, lifting his head to glare at Tony, "How do you know these things?"

"You think that because you've suffered that no one else can know the depth of that suffering," Tony returned, rolling up his sleeves, "But that's not true. You're not the only one with scars."

He showed Nathan his arms, both of which were marked by a single scar running down, so faint it couldn't be seen unless Tony pointed them out and exposed them to direct sunlight. Glimpsed casually, they blended into his skin seamlessly.

"My mother gave me these," Tony told Nathan and was surprised to feel no sorrow. Somehow, he'd come to accept his past. He certainly never would have done this before, and definitely not in front of any other of his bosses. "She was screaming something about bleeding the foulness out of me. My mother wasn't entirely sane and if my father hadn't interrupted her I would have bled to death."

Nathan's eyes were wide. It was hard to kill a vampire but not impossible. Bleeding to death was a sure-fire way to do it, and more painful than piercing the heart or decapitation. The only one that beat it was being burned alive.

"How old were you?" Nathan asked, reaching forward to touch one of the scars lightly.

"Seven," Tony admitted softly.

"Your father?"

"Loved her," Tony shrugged, "He took me to hospital, paid for the surgery to cover the scars as much as was possible and drugged my mother with enough medication to make an elephant groggy. Not that it helped much. She pushed me down the stairs two weeks later."

Nathan shook his head and, finally, began to cry. Tony found himself relaxing. Expressing emotion was a positive thing here. If Nathan had managed to keep his stoic mask intact, eventually it would have destroyed him from the inside out.

"What happened to her?" Nathan wondered, "Did you... did you kill her?"

"I didn't have to," Tony denied, "She died in a car accident when I was ten."

"I –" Nathan began, shuddering, "My father. He –he touched me at night. Would whisper things in my ear as he did it. I tried to block it out, to make up stories in my head or pretend it wasn't happening, you know? And then I saw the gun and I decided to make it so he'd never touch me again."

He broke down then, crying furiously. The social worker pulled him into an embrace, one Nathan didn't fight. Tony knew then that he'd be alright. That time would help him recover, though, like Tony, he'd always bear the scars. Needing to get some air, Tony got to his feet and made a break for the door, brushing past Gibbs as he went.

He didn't go far, just around the corner. Leaning against the wall, Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His right hand absently traced the scars on his left forearm and he was surprised to find himself feeling lighter than he had in a long time. There was a reason he never spoke about his mother but, somehow, knowing that Gibbs knew reassured him. He knew Gibbs would never betray him –he knew that like he knew the back of his hand.

"Tony?"

Tony straightened, turning to face Nathan Reynolds. The name made him grimace slightly (really, what were the odds?) but he managed a smile.

"Hey Nathan."

"Tony," Nathan managed, eyeing Tony with concern, "Are you alright? You look as though you've been wrung dry."

That wasn't entirely accurate. Tony rather felt like he'd sucked out poison from a snake bite –it had hurt but now it was out of his system and things only got better from here, if he let them.

"Yeah," Tony replied, smiling more honestly now, "I'm okay."

"Uhuh," Nathan agreed sceptically, "Hey, I've got time. Why don't we go get some coffee together? You look as though you need someone to take care of and spoil you right now."

That sounded wonderful. Oddly, Tony felt filled with wellbeing –he knew now, with certainty, that disregarding the collar (let's call it by its name) was the best thing he'd ever done. It was time to leave the past behind him and find something to fill his future.

He parted his lips, an acceptance hovering there, before he felt a body press against his back. Starting, Tony turned his head to see Gibbs. His boss wrapped a strong arm around his waist, glared at Nathan and _snarled_.

Nathan all but puffed into smoke, he retreated so quickly.

Tony blinked. He looked up at Gibbs to find the other man's eyes dark and his fangs visible. That surprised Tony –Gibbs usually kept his fangs retracted unless he was intimidating a suspect or displaying his dominance. There were vampires who walked around with their fangs down all the time but Gibbs wasn't one of them –in fact, the majority of those vampires were teenagers.

"Er –boss?" Tony tried.

Gibbs wasn't listening. He'd taken Tony's arm and was tracing the scar there.

"How did I never notice this?" he demanded and though that was likely a rhetorical question, Tony hastened to answer it anyway.

"They're well hidden?" he replied uncertainly, his bemusement making it more of a question than a statement.

Gibbs let loose a small growl, laying a cheek against Tony's own and butting against him gently. Tony found his breath catching –he'd never been in a serious relationship before, but he knew the gestures that courting and mated couples made and that was a typical one.

"Gibbs?" Tony ventured, turning his head away from Gibbs touch in order to look him in the eyes. Gibbs took advantage of that by ducking his head and gifting him with a kiss.

If there was a way to mark someone without biting their neck, Gibbs' kiss was it. It told Tony better than words could that Gibbs considered Tony as belonging to him. There were other messages there –the promise that no one would ever hurt Tony again, the vow that Gibbs would take care of him, the stipulation that no one would ever touch him again, either in anger or in arousal. Still, _'mine'_ was the main message, and Gibbs communicated it thoroughly.

Then Tony remembered they were still in the middle of the bullpen and pulled away with a gasp.

He looked around frantically but no one had noticed them yet. Tony had chosen a good corner for his moment of respite.

"They'll know your mine eventually anyway," Gibbs informed him, his mouth far too close to Tony's ear, "It'll be hard to deny when you wear my mark."

And then he _licked Tony's neck_.

Tony made a noise between a moan, a gasp and a question. He tried to speak but the moan was apparently as articulate as he was capable of being. Gibbs doubtless understood because he huffed a breath of laughter against Tony's ear, making Tony shudder.

"Not now," Gibbs told him, perhaps conceding that the middle of the NCIS office was hardly the best place for this, "Come to my place after work –if your answer is yes, of course."

His smug smile told Tony that he didn't doubt for one moment that Tony's answer would indeed be yes. Then he was gone and Tony was left with the remains of a brain that was still mostly dead with shock.

Bastard.

The familiar thought gave Tony the willpower to shake his head and attempt to gather his shattered thoughts together as he made his way to his desk. His eyes caught Gibbs' as he sat and, to his horror, Tony found himself flushing.

Which was ridiculous. Tony had always had a physical appreciation for his boss (because, come one, he was hardly anything to sneeze at) but he'd never entertained the notion of shacking up with him. Part of that might have been common sense –usually not a good idea to sleep with ones' superior –but part of it had also been fear.

Gibbs and Tony had always had a bit of dynamic going. It worked for them and it always had. But there had never been anything remotely sexual about it and Tony had never wished for there to be. What he had with Gibbs was built on a foundation so solid he didn't want to jeopardize it with meaningless sex. He trusted Gibbs in ways he'd never trusted anyone and if sometimes he'd thought that his ideal dom would be someone just like him well, no one had to know that but him. And besides, _'just like him'_ wasn't the same as admitting he wanted Gibbs himself. But now Gibbs seemed to be suggesting that he could have him.

Tony was taken aback by how desperately he wanted that.

Anything meaningless was still out of the picture but perhaps Gibbs was of the same opinion. It could hardly be a coincidence that he acted the same day Tony forsook his collar. Maybe that's what he'd been waiting for all along –a sign that Tony was ready for more. Something he _hadn't_ been ready for before then.

That annoyed him a little. Tony couldn't help but think he would have been ready sooner if he'd known that Gibbs was on the table. Then again, this wasn't exactly something that could be rushed and maybe Gibbs showing an interest sooner would only have made Tony feel desperate and pressured.

In any case, Gibbs had good reason to be smug. There really wasn't any doubt what Tony's answer would be.

Of course, he still had the rest of the day to get through first.

It should have gone quickly, what with all the work they had to do. Children committing murder complicated things because they weren't old enough to be tried for the crime. It complicated things even further when they'd been abused as Nathan had been. The case would probably be marked down as self defence but with the recommendation that Nathan undergo therapy. Hopefully, he'd recover enough to lead a relatively normal life.

In any case, there was no lack of paperwork, or corroborating of evidence or making of numerous phone calls to keep Tony distracted but it made no difference whatsoever. The day _dragged_.

When Gibbs finally glanced at the clock and dismissed them, Tony was filled with nerves wound as tight as wire. The smile Gibbs shot his way as Tony stumbled towards the elevator certainly didn't help.

Drawing a deep breath, Tony got in his car and began to drive. He took his time, both because it helped to calm him down and because he needed the space to think. He wanted to be sure of what he wanted and, by the time he got to Gibbs', had even decided that he wouldn't accept Gibbs offer unless he was assured it was the real thing.

When he pulled up to Gibbs' house he was filled with resolve if not calm. Gibbs' car was already there which, considering how the man drove, was hardly surprising. Taking another moment to breathe deeply, Tony climbed out of the car and approached the house.

The door opened smoothly under his hand and Tony entered, feeling oddly shy.

"Tony," Gibbs greeted, stepping out of the living room where he'd clearly been waiting for Tony's arrival.

"I'm not saying yes," Tony felt obliged to caution before Gibbs could say anything else, "Not yet. I want to know what the question is first."

"I want you to be mine," Gibbs shrugged, as though that were obvious, "I want you to bear my Mark."

"Why now?" Tony had to ask.

"I was waiting for you to be ready."

Tony made to argue but closed his mouth before the words escaped and raised a hand to his bare neck. Considering the thoughts he'd been entertaining in the bullpen, that was probably not that unreasonable an excuse.

"I never thought I could have this," Tony admitted, eyeing Gibbs and trying to imagine what it would be like belonging to such a man –a man who would protect him and know him and trust him. A man he in turn could protect and know and trust.

Really, they'd been dancing around each other for years. Tony had just never wanted to admit that that was what it was. That all their snipping and protectiveness and, yes, even flirting –that it was all just a prelude to something else.

"Most people don't rush right into claiming," Tony pointed out hesitantly, "Shouldn't we wait?"

"For what?" Gibbs asked pointedly, "We've waited a decade, Tony. We'll never know each other better than we do in this moment. And everything I know about you, I love."

Since it was a declaration of love, Gibbs should have sounded vulnerable and weak. He didn't. He sounded as firm and as unrelenting as the ocean, and just as merciless. It wasn't a declaration so much as a truth so fundamental that there was no shaking it.

"I know you're scared," Gibbs said, reached out a hand to draw Tony to him, "But you don't need to be. I'll look after you."

He nuzzled Tony's collarbone and, unable to help it, Tony tilted his head to bare his neck. He tried to tell himself that they should wait a little –move in together first, at the very least. He told himself that having a mark wasn't the same as having a mate and that couples still betrayed each other –today's case being a prime example of that. You had to be careful who you bonded yourself to. It wasn't an easy thing to break.

But though Tony knew all this he also knew that he trusted Gibbs. He didn't, in fact, know anyone that he trusted more. He trusted him to watch his six, yes, but he also trusted the man with his joys, with his sorrow, with his past. His past wasn't something Tony had ever trusted with anyone but he'd shown Gibbs just how much he trusted him in the interrogation room, when he'd bared his scars for the world to see.

A thousand scenes ran through his mind.

Watching Gibbs train and admiring his form. Being trapped in a room so small it was suffocating but knowing, in his heart, that Gibbs was coming for him. Making Gibbs laugh and feeling a surge of pride that went right to his bones. Watching Gibbs' lips curl into a half-smile and wondering, before the thought was pushed away, what it would be like to kiss them.

"I love you," Tony realized and it was the easiest and hardest thing he'd ever said.

"Is that a yes?" Gibbs tested, nipping his skin lightly.

"Yes," Tony breathed.

"Good," Gibbs murmured fiercely, "Was driving me crazy seeing you without a collar and knowing someone else could try and stake a claim."

Tony huffed a laugh. "Jealous bastard," he accused lightly.

"Of course," Gibbs agreed, with a trace of steal in his voice, "Your mine."

He began to lead Tony upstairs then and, despite himself, Tony felt a shiver of trepidation. He'd had sex before –of course he had –but claiming was something else entirely and he was startled to find himself nervous. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been nervous before sex –probably when he lost his virginity.

Then they were in the bedroom and Gibbs was pulling him into a kiss so fierce that it left no room for nerves. Tony usually put up more of a fight, surging into kisses and making his lover fight for dominance. He didn't do that now –Gibbs' kiss claimed Tony's submission as though it already belonged to him and there was no room here for struggle. No room even for a desire to struggle.

Rather, Tony tilted his head, curled his arms and pressed himself as close as possible. It still didn't seem close enough.

Gibbs pulled away, pausing for air and bringing his hands up.

"I knew when I met you," he informed Tony as his fingers set to undoing the buttons on Tony's shirt, "I knew then that we'd fit together. I could never have imagined how well."

Tony had lost the capacity for words and so settled on actions, dragging Gibbs' shirt out of his pants and over his head. Gibbs parted the brief second required to allow this before dragging Tony close again, pressing a kiss against his neck as his hands drew the shirt away.

The hands made for his jeans next and, head pleasantly clouded, Tony only just managed to reciprocate, popping the button and drawing Gibbs' pants away from him. There was some awkward fumbling to rid themselves of footwear and then they were pressing back together, skin against skin. Tony made a noise deep in his throat that he'd deny until the day he died.

"Tell me you want this," Gibbs coaxed, eyes dark and intense and focused on Tony as though he was the world.

"I want this," Tony obliged at once, drawing Gibbs back onto the bed with him, "More than anything."

Gibbs' eyes flashed with pleasure and he reached over the dig through his bedside table and fetching some lube. He forwent the condoms but this was a claiming and that was the norm –they'd never have anyone else but each other ever again.

Tony felt a thread of wonder surge through him at the thought and parted his legs without being asked. Gibbs shot him a look of approval at that, making Tony feel suffused with warmth no matter how firmly he told himself that was ridiculous.

Then the first finger entered and Tony lost all capacity for thought completely.

There was a reason Tony had been such a playboy. He liked sex and felt no shame about admitting that. The way he felt when someone eased inside him was indescribable and Tony was a hedonist for pleasure. His partners usually liked that about him, enjoyed how responsive he was. But none of those partners had been Gibbs.

Tony found that made a hell of a difference.

Gibbs not only encouraged the sounds, he worked to duplicate them, studying with a fixed impression what it was that made Tony make a particular noise and committing it to memory. Tony felt rather like a musical instrument to which Gibbs was learning the cords to –press here and Tony shuddered, twist there and he moaned.

It wasn't long before Tony was reduced to a puddle good for nothing but begging. They were the only words he knew just then and would have to do.

All begging and pleading and arching aside, Gibbs still took his sweet damn time. It was only when Tony began to nearly sob as he arched against Gibbs that the other man relented, pulling his fingers free and replacing them with something longer and thicker.

Feeling Gibbs sliding inside him was like music and light and fire. Tony was beyond even moaning as he clutched his arms around Gibbs' back, drew his legs firm and met Gibbs eyes as he thrust himself home.

Gibbs's eyes were bluer than Tony had ever seen them and filled with emotions Tony had only ever dreamed of. They stayed locked, connected, reluctant to part. It was only when the urge to move became something beyond them that Gibbs drew back and began to thrust.

It began smooth, fluid, almost gentle. Considering how fierce a man Gibbs was, Tony kept his eyes on Gibbs', watching and waiting for the moment that Gibbs would surg forward and _take_.

It never came. Gibbs kept his thrusts smooth, hitting Tony's prostate with precision and refusing to rush even when Tony started to squirm and moan beneath him.

"Gibbs," Tony breathed, "Jethro. Jethro, please."

Gibbs shuddered slightly, from the sound of his name or Tony's breathless tone, it hardly mattered. Still he didn't hurry their lovemaking. Tony finally simply tilted his head, baring his neck and accepting whatever it was Gibbs wanted to do to him.

Gibbs' fangs came down an instant before he leaned forward. He swiped a tongue down Tony's neck, making Tony shiver. Then, after briefly pressing a kiss to the flesh there, Gibbs sank his teeth in.

Tony gasped.

The claiming mark hurt. Everyone knew that –it was a bite, after all, and a semi-permanent one at that. Of course it hurt.

In the state Tony was in all it did was light him up like a Christmas tree.

It still hurt like hell, but the pain and the pleasure intertwined into more which combined to make Tony infused with sensation. Gibbs was merciless, keeping his teeth locked down even as Tony cried and thrashed beneath him. He felt his orgasm as a distant sensation, something that curled back and suffused his whole body quietly.

Gibbs shuddered a moment later, drawing his mouth back at last as he pushed reflexively into Tony's yielding body. Tony reached up to catch Gibbs in a kiss, tasting the tang of his own blood on his lips, a taste that only seemed to emphasize the tingling of his neck.

Gibbs used the distraction to pull free, drawing Tony to his body as he rolled onto his back. Tony happily used Gibbs as a pillow as he caught his breath and found he couldn't be bothered moving, though he knew he'd be sticky and itchy if he didn't at least wipe down. He couldn't bring himself to care.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Tony agreed, "I'm fine."

The pain in his neck was fading now and Tony was taken by a strange desire to see the mark. Prying himself free from Gibbs' hold, Tony stumbled towards the bathroom. He took the opportunity to clean himself up before turning to the mirror.

His neck was no longer bare.

To the right was a mark that was red and swollen with just a hint of silver at the edges. It would turn fully silver as Gibbs and Tony bonded more thoroughly which was a process that could take a couple of days or could take a couple of months.

Then there were the practical advantages. Tony would be able to sense when Gibbs was in danger or hurt and he'd also be able to better guess his moods and frame of mind. It was, of course, a bond that worked both ways. A good thing considering how often Tony got himself into trouble. Tony gazed at it in rapture, awed that such a small but precious thing could symbolise so much.

"Suits you," Gibbs commented smugly, leaning against the bathroom door and eyeing Tony with satisfaction.

"You would think that," Tony retorted fondly, reaching up a hand to touch his new mark. It throbbed as he did so as if to assure Tony that yes, this was real.

Gibbs just smiled. Tony narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Be smug now," he allowed, with a hint of glee, "You're the one who'll have to explain things when we return to work tomorrow."

Gibbs pulled a brief face that made Tony laugh. He wished he could be a fly on the wall when Abby confronted him –or better yet, Ducky. Everyone would have an opinion, Tony knew, and he'd be very surprised if anyone had seen this coming.

Gibbs watched him laugh and rolled his eyes, holding out a hand.

"Come back to bed," he demanded.

With his new mark glinting in the mirror, his soul as light air and filled with sense of a contentment so profound it was like a constant pressure against his chest, Tony took his mate's hand and allowed himself to be pulled back to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is merely the first in a verse. More will be up soon. Read? Review.


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